


Leave Daddy In The Badlands

by brownpapermoon



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Urban Magic Yogs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownpapermoon/pseuds/brownpapermoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two waterfae risk everything for whatever freedom they can get.</p><p>(Before the Garbage Court, even before a blue-eyed gargoyle, it was just them against the world.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Daddy In The Badlands

The cavernous halls of Kirin's mansion were always alight with activity, from the steaming glass of the roof greenhouses right down to the cellars full of bottles and chalk. Every wall was painted with a pattern of vines too vivid to be anything other than naturally grown, budding in March, flowering, swelling heavy with fruit, and shedding crisp brown leaves that gathered by the skirting boards by the time autumn ended. 

Those who knew the labyrinthine corridors the sidhe lord hid behind the facade of a modest townhouse knew his presence haunted every turning and corner; you only walked out of the front door if he allowed you to find it; there were long corridors of cell like rooms where he kept pacing creatures, released only to take care of their lord's business.

"Too ripe." Smith muttered, and Trott set the soft peach back onto the fruit stand. His voice was barely audible over the shouting of market stall owners and the hubbub of passing humans. Meeting during the busy Saturday's farmer's market was difficult, but with Smith out on a job for the first time in weeks and Trott tasked with food shopping for an upcoming banquet, it was their only chance to see each other. 

Talking betrayal in the lord's house was too risky, especially after last time. Kirin had found train tickets under Trott's mattress. Smith could still remember the silhouette of Trott's short body as Kirin had dangled him by the throat over the churning waves that chewed at the pier. A selkie returned to the waves without their skin could never emerge again, and Trott had swung there like a body from a noose as Kirin made an example of him, showed the rest of the court just how helpless he was, until he tired and threw Trott down against the damp wood of the pier. Look at the traitor. Trying to escape his master. Doesn't know what's good for him. 

Trott hadn't told who the second ticket had been for, and Smith remembered the coldly determined look in his eyes as he had coughed and gagged on the pier’s wet planks, the rock-steady stubbornness in his gaze as he felt over the livid bruises already blooming on his throat, the steadiness that stayed as Kirin dragged him back to the house and hung him by his wrists in the main court chamber for the night. But even with cuffs cutting into his wrists, Trott didn’t talk, and Kirin had been called away on business before he could extend his interrogations.

Smith reached across the fruit stand to brush the cotton on the doctor’s bandaged wrists with his fingertips as Trott reached for a crate of plums. Smith could feel his time limit ticking down, every second he was away from his bridle a relentless grating on every nerve. He couldn't survive without it for longer than three days, and he knew if he hadn't completed what Kirin set him loose for by the end of those days their lord would most likely let him waste away into a puddle of the muddy water that made him and laugh. He was only useful as long as he did his job, and did it well, but that wasn't about to stop him finding Trott on his groceries trip. They were allowed to overlap, it wasn't suspicious if it was coincidence, but Trott still looked around carefully before meeting Smith's eyes. Smith could change his form to hide injuries and dark bags under his eyes, but Trott had no such luxury, and when Smith saw him properly he had to suppress a wince. He had never seen the selkie look so utterly exhausted.

"How are you?" Smith asked quietly, knowing the answer as he felt across the warm fabric strips. It had been three weeks since he had last seen the doctor, and it was clear that, to last that long, the injuries Trott had must have been made with iron involved.

Trott kept reaching and picked up a plum. "Fine." He said squeezing it lightly between his fingers. "You?"

"Fine." Smith shrugged, scuffing the tarmac with his boot. "Missed you."

"That's too bad." Trott's deep eyes flicked up to meet Smith's before returning to inspecting fruit. "How long do you have?"

"Twelve hours." Smith didn't have to check the time on his phone; he felt his bridle's absence in his gut. Trott nodded, caution affecting his every motion.

"Go finish up, then." He said, seemingly inspecting the plum very closely, scratching an imperfection off the skin with his thumbnail. "Make sure you get everything sorted, do everything our noble lord desires. As is your duty, as a member of his court. You'll want to be home by eight tonight."

Smith's brow furrowed, too used to Trott’s defiance by way of exaggerated praise for it to cause him much concern that Kirin’s actions had worked. "By eight? Why?"

Trott looked up, tossing the wet plum into his hands. "So we can fix you up before Kirin gets home at nine for dinner, of course." He turned, wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans, about to merge back into the crowds meandering about. "We need a guest to arrive in the hall at eight. They will make a mess." 

"Eight. Right." Smith ventured, confused. "A mess? Who? Trott, wait-"

"Enjoy your lunch." Trott gestured to the plum in Smith's hand, raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and walked off into the crowd. Smith frowned, watching him go, then looking down at the plum that was trickling sticky water down his wrist.

He stared. Scratched into the weeping yellow flesh of the plum was a crudely drawn horse's head. Trott's meaning dawned on Smith suddenly, and he tossed the small fruit into his mouth, crunching down on it, stone and all. He left the right number of coins on the stall's table as he slunk away, mind keenly on finishing his job, and the eight o'clock visitor.

\----------

The leaves and flowers of the vines on the walls flinched in the main entrance hall as clocks all across the mansion struck eight. A wrought iron birdcage filled with twittering birds went crashing into one of them, cracks snaking through the enchanted plaster, vines darting away as grateful birds flapped desperately out of their jarred-open cage and flew frantically for the open windows. 

A noise like screaming winds and rushing water choked the warm mansion air with cold and the sickly stench of rotting flesh and river mud, and as panicked fae hurried to the entranceway to see what was going on, they found themselves at the mercy of a furious kelpie.

With no bridle to grab at, some fae tried to grasp its slick river weed peppered mane, only to find their hands stuck fast to its wet skin. Their bodies were dragged with the kelpie as he reared and kicked, weights no hindrance to a creature with such fearsome strength. Some less lucky found themselves smacked backwards by hard hooves, and the least lucky felt nothing but cold as sharp teeth embedded themselves in their throats, tearing with hungry abandon.

Three floors above the panic, Trott pressed himself back against a walnut wood cabinet, watching as court members hurried towards the visitor. The stench of death and freshwater in the air turned his stomach, but he swallowed back against the nausea and waited until the corridor was mostly clear before he slunk upstairs. He located the door to Kirin's keeping room with ease, treading as lightly as he could. 

He wasted no time as he heard screaming downstairs, sliding a thin tusk knife out of his cardigan and pushing it carefully into the lock. Magical locks are far more complex than human ones, but none are impenetrable. As he moved the dagger about with surgical precision, the shells he tied to the handle with twine clattered quietly, marked with dwarven runes he still owed Honeydew for; but better to owe the jovial dwarf than the cruel fae lord. He held his breath as the first catch released, acutely aware it was only a matter of time until Kirin came home; this was their last chance at freedom.

Back downstairs, Smith was kicking and biting, causing as much havoc as he could in the usually neat entrance hall. It felt exhilarating to be back in his true form after so long, and as he sent a goblin smashing through the glass panelling beside the front door and out onto the street he wondered why he ever took on any other form. He was monstrous, and the fear in the eyes of the fae that came for him spurred him on. He had bowed to a false king for the last time- being on four legs again reminded him of dancing on church altars, muddy shoes ruining hand stitched cloths and kicking candles into walls and the breathless thrill of screaming that he has no master but himself.

It was a beautiful feeling. It did not last.

With a deafening bang of thunder and a cloud of thick grey mist, the front door flew open. Outside on the street it looked like nothing had changed, but inside, a deathly silence fell. All the other fae froze in place. Smith didn't falter, tossing a screeching gnome into an ornate mirror with a flick of his dripping head. His nostrils flared as he snorted in challenge, scuffing the carpet as he pawed it with a hoof.

"Oh dear." Kirin tutted, serene calm in his echoing voice. His presence turned the cold air thick with the humidity present before a thunderstorm- littlefae scurried for cover as Kirin shook his head, glamour falling so his antlers and horns were visible, skin glowing with sparking blue magic. Smith took a step forwards, shaking his mane and flicking river water everywhere.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Kirin giggled, grin spreading savagely wide. Smith spat. "This will be fun."

Smith tried to dart away as the vines from the walls burst into life and grabbed for him, but his larger form had less room in the enclosed hallway, and as he stumbled backwards over a corpse the leafy tendrils caught his hooves. They ensnared him quickly, wrapping around him even as he struggled- he screamed, bucking, the whites of his eyes visible as blue lightning coursed through the vines like wires and shocked through him. He kept fighting even as he was being dragged to the ground- the vines coiled around his neck and he shifted, rainwater quick, into human form, scrabbling to escape, managed to get an arm out and grab at the carpet, but the vines closed in on him quickly and another shock went through him. 

The pain was blinding, and for a long moment he couldn't breathe or think, falling limp as Kirin's sharp magic coursed through him. He tried to draw a breath but his lungs were on fire, and the shocks didn't stop until he stopped trying to grab at the carpet and struggle out of the sidhe lord's hold.

"I thought we had been through this..." Kirin's voice was like a disappointed schoolteacher's, and Smith's vision was swimming as he looked up. Kirin was standing over him, frowning in a smug parody of sympathy, and he couldn't move a muscle. He strained his neck and tried to bite at Kirin's legs, snarling and feral, and Kirin kicked him hard in the jaw.

"I told you, mule." Kirin spat, aiming another kick at Smith's vine-covered throat- it connected, hard, and Smith choked clear blood onto the carpet. "The only good horse is an obedient one..." He waved a hand and the vines squeezed Smith harder, cutting at the magic holding his form together. Kirin was clearly enjoying it, and Smith gritted his teeth, determined not to use his last breath to scream. "...or a dead one."

The corner of Kirin's nose curled in disgust as Smith's clear blood dripped from between the vines. "I gave you so many chances. I thought you'd seen the light. I thought you were going to be a good little show pony for me. But," he sighed dramatically, as if Smith's impending death was becoming a real irritation for him, "if you're going to keep being childish, you're not worth the stud money."

"Fuck you!" Smith growled, followed by a groan of pain as the vines cut into him harder.

Kirin shrugged. "You've been a fool, Smith, it's as simple as that. And now it's time for you to go to pay." He raised a six fingered hand, and Smith forced his burning muscles to struggle, unable to stop himself hoping that, if it was Trott's plan to sacrifice him and escape himself, he had at least escaped.

Kirin's fingers twitched, but they did not close. He looked up sharply, away from Smith, as if hearing something far away. His parody of a sympathetic frown melted into a smile of genuine excitement.

"Oh." He giggled, looking down at Smith again. "Oh my goodness me. Oh you are a stupid one, aren't you?" His voice was saccharine sweet and Smith struggled more. "He made you do this, didn't he? Oh, that is almost impressive. Almost! Up."

He flicked his hand, command firm, and Smith writhed against the magic forcing him to obey. He stood on legs shaking with pain, vines uncoiling and sliding back into the walls silently, and tried to pull desperately against the hold Kirin had over him, the magic of his bridle forcing him to do so when Kirin ordered him to "Follow."

Smith tried everything he could to stop himself going after Kirin as the fae lord climbed the stairs, digging the heels of his boots into the soft carpets, grabbing at the stair banisters and pushing himself backwards, but Kirin snapped his fingers and he lurched forwards, a phantom ache behind his teeth as Kirin pulled him by the bit towards where Trott was. Nothing he did was of any use- Kirin had his bridle, and so had him.

They reached the fifth floor despite Smith doing all he could to deter Kirin, and they found the door to Kirin's keeping room gaping open. Smith was almost certain he heard the fae lord snarl as he saw the thin tusk knife in the lock, but he didn't have any time to verify as Kirin marched onwards into the high-ceilinged room, eyes flashing with anger.

Smith followed, stomach dropping at what he saw. The room was filled with hundreds of chests, from floor to ceiling, each made of twisted branches interlocking and sealed with an intricate lock. In the middle of it all was Trott, rifling frantically through one of the chests in the centre of the room. Smith called his name in warning, and Trott whipped around to face them, horrified.

"Shit."

"Oh, doctor." Kirin tutted, walking forwards menacingly. Trott began to scramble backwards, edging around open chests to put as much distance as possible between him and the sidhe lord. "I knew you were sentimental, but I never imagined you'd drag anyone else into your hunt. I suppose you thought Smith would give you enough time playing distraction for you to find it."

"I wasn't looking for it." Trott didn't stop backing up, catching another open chest for balance as his feet thumped into the side of one of the keeping room's display pedestals. "I was looking for your heart."

Kirin stopped walking forwards, stared for a moment at Trott in disbelief, before laughing raucously. "You always were hilarious!" He snickered, wiping tears from his eyes- Trott looked panicked, dark eyes wide as he watched Kirin.

"So it's not here?" He sounded utterly defeated.

"It doesn't exist, Trottimus." Kirin shook his head, and Trott looked aghast. "Any little fantasies you had about taking control of my court with it are going to have to remain fantasies, I'm afraid." He shrugged in a conciliatory manner, and Trott slumped against the chest he was beside, hand over his face, looking as if he had just completely deflated. Smith gaped- surely that hadn't been Trott's entire plan? To risk both of their lives on the vain hope that Kirin kept his heart somewhere as insecure as the Keeping Room?

"Smith." Kirin snapped his fingers, and Smith straightened his spine and stepped forwards, even while begging his legs not to. Trott looked too defeated to even think about looking for escape routes. "Kill Trott. Right now. Eat him up. For your lord."

"I'm sorry." Smith felt bile rising in his throat at the order, and took a reluctant step forwards. "Run, Trott, please-"

"It's okay, Smith." Trott said, taking a deep breath and standing tall as Smith walked towards him. "It's okay. This isn't your fault."

"I'll make it quick." Smith promised, eyes welling with tears. Trott was his only hope at freedom, Trott was the first one in this sick twisted court to see him as more than a weapon, Trott was someone he trusted with his life; the thought of killing him was abhorrent. "I swear you won't feel a thing."

"You'll make it slow." Kirin commanded.

"Please, run, Trott, don't make me hurt you-"

"It's okay, Smith." Trott reassured him, steadying his shaky breathing as Smith came towards him. He felt the air cool with Smith's charm magic, felt the swelling of warmth and joy in his gut- it felt sickly and artificial now he knew it was a false sense of safety. "It's okay."

Smith swept his legs from under him easily, and they tumbled to the ground, Trott's back hitting the hard wooden floor and Smith landing gracefully on top of him. The kelpie could feel Trott fighting his magic, fighting to stay conscious and not slip into the pleasurable daze he inflicted on all his prey. He willed harder, desperate for Trott not to feel any pain as he pinned his legs under his knees, feeling Kirin watching hungrily from behind them. Smith felt a freshwater tear drip from his eyes onto Trott's cheek as he leant over him, moving his hands to pin Trott's wrists. The warm cotton bandages pressed against his skin, he could feel Trott’s pulse, the heat of his living body and the smell of his skin. He felt sick, too hot and shaky and aching, and as he met Trott's deep brown eyes and their determined stare he couldn't help but think this would be the worst thing he had ever done.

Trott's fingers unfurled, and Smith's palm felt the press of familiar metal, warmed by the selkie's own touch. 

Trott smiled up at him. "Got you a present." He whispered, and Smith was hit by a huge wave of sensation; relief at not having to kill Trott, joy at having his keys back, amazement that Trott hadn't kept them for himself-

"What are you waiting for?" Kirin's cutting voice brought him the thrill of knowing this freedom meant he could finally have justice. Smith stood, the aches in his body fading as the magic of being united with his bridle soothed and healed them. "Kill him!" Kirin demanded. "I order you to kill him!"

"Fuck you." Smith turned to face Kirin- Trott scrambled groggily to his feet and darted off between the chests as the kelpie advanced on his former master. "You've given me my last orders, you plug socket-fucking megalomaniac!"

A tamed kelpie is a wonderfully useful thing; they are ten times as strong as any normal horse, can be used to build grand castles, and kill very efficiently. But a wild kelpie, no matter how powerful you think you are, is always dangerous. 

Kirin's feet faltered backwards under his robes as Smith approached, eyes flashing gold, the stench of river magic filling the room. With one fluid step he was no longer human, but equine once more, long tail specked with weeds and bones dragging wetly across the wooden floor. It was a true form kelpies changed for a reason; no human would ever willingly approach a beast whose every inch stank of predatory intent and deadly magic, and as he stalked like a hungry lion towards Kirin it took the fae lord a moment to shake himself from the daze the river magic choked him with enough to summon lightning to his hands.

It wasn't quick enough. Smith reared up on his hind legs, smashing his front hooves against Kirin's chest and sending him staggering back against a wall, wheezing. Smith clacked his teeth together, the haunting sound like bones rattling as he followed, readying another kick.

"Smith!" Trott called, running for him from the maze of chests, something leathery and brown folded over one of his arms. "Smith, let's go!"

Smith fixed him with a furious gold-eyed stare, snorting in frustration. "Don't you want to hurt him?" He asked, voice echoing without his lips moving.

"Of course I do, but we can't-" Trott eyed the sidhe lord getting breathlessly to his feet with growing concern. "There's no time to explain. Please just trust me on this. We need to go."

For a long, cold moment, Smith and Trott stared at each other, one angry, one earnest. Then, Smith snorted, shaking his head, and rippled back into human form. Trott, relieved beyond words, grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the door.

"Why?" Kirin asked, tone filled with an unfamiliar sadness as he watched them go. Smith didn't turn, but Trott paused, tugging his dagger from the lock. "You know I'll have to kill you now. You've signed your own death certificates."

"Then we'll probably get killed." Trott glanced over his shoulder. "But nobody's managed it yet."

He sprinted for the stairs, on Smith's heels, heart hammering, not sure what possessed him to say something so dangerous to a sidhe lord, especially one so powerful. Behind him he heard the angry rumbling of thunder and a yell of frustration as Smith's charm magic dissipated and Kirin realised fully what was going on.

"Where's your car?" Trott asked as Smith leapt over the last bannister into the entrance hall, shouldering himself against the front door to keep it as open as Kirin had left it while the magic of the mansion shook with rage and tried to slam it on them. Trott sprinted out onto the street and caught Smith's hand to pull him out of the house just as the door slammed shut, the bubble of magic around Kirin's mansion resealing.

They both stood for a second on the street, staring up at the unassuming townhouse, breathing in the warm air outside. Trott huffed, legs aching after the sprint, and Smith turned to face the road, whistling loudly. To any passers by it looked as if it had been there all along, but for the pair of fae, a moss green sports car came skidding round the corner, coming to a halt in front of them.

"Let's get going." Trott said firmly, waiting for Smith to invite him into the car. He glanced skywards, frowning as he saw dark stormclouds gathering. "We can't wait around here. He'll send the court after us."

"Get in." Smith said, struggling to keep his breathing level as he touched the glossy paintwork of his faithful car. Stolen long ago, imbued with his magic, it had been painful to make it wait covered over in an abandoned warehouse for the three long years he had worked for Kirin. But now it was back, and his keys were back, and they could go anywhere, be free again.

"Will I be safe?" Trott asked- his voice wasn't full of suspicion, but he was thoroughly aware of the damage Smith could do. He had, after all, never seen his true form before, and it had confirmed every superstition and story he had heard about man eating riverfae and their brutal ways. The corpses they had sprinted past in the entrance hall were proof enough Smith was dangerous, even without his bridle, and now he was fully freed Trott knew he could simply drive him to the riverside and fuck and eat him, and Trott would probably end up thanking him for it.

"Of course." Smith looked up from the paintwork, the smallest hint of hurt in his eyes at the question. To him, evidently, it hadn't been a question even on his mind. "You have my word I won't hurt you-" the rest of his promise was cut off by a loud rumble of thunder above their heads.

"Get in!"

"Getting in."

Smith's car smelled of new leather and warm plastic. Its insides were glamorous, with a stylish retro feel to its design and gadgets on the dashboard that all adjusted acutely to the tiniest changes in the car. It was hard to believe this was the killing room of a river monster. 

As Smith revved the engine and sped away down the street Trott's mind was barely on the car at all, more occupied with the storm he could see gathering from its windows. He chewed his bottom lip, folded skin a foreign weight against his knees as Smith drove.

"What's the plan now?" Smith asked, glancing at Trott as he wound his way through the traffic. Thankfully the evening traffic was quick enough on weekends, and Smith knew to avoid the main roads, manoeuvring fluidly down smaller side streets. "Please tell me you have a plan."

"Of course I do." Trott rubbed at his face, hardly able to believe this was happening. "We have a safe house. Keep driving, it's out in the suburbs a little, on the Redwood Crescent."

Smith nodded. Driving was still as natural as breathing to him, even when his heart was hammering a mile a minute. He was still absolutely on high alert, fully aware Kirin would be coming for them, but he also trusted the selkie who had freed his bridle and given it back to make sure their efforts hadn't been in vain.

"Why did you stop me from killing him?" Smith's question was quiet, but undeniably angry. Trott didn't look away from the windows.

"The city functions on balance, like all magic. If you want something, you have to give something away. Kirin is a placeholder in the city, a fixed point, someone who keeps the balance. Without him, there's too much uncertainty- to remove someone powerful and ambitious would mean either someone else powerful had to fall, someone would take Kirin's place, or, most likely, the magic of the city would interfere to ensure you failed to kill him at all. Like it or not, he’s a very old pillar of order here, and killing him- even if you could have- would have introduced so much chaos, Sedna only knows what we’d have lost." Trott explained sadly. "Believe me when I say I want him dead. I want him to suffer for what he did to you, to us." His fingers curled in the skin on his lap. "But tonight had to be about escaping with our lives. We aren't in a position to take him down right now. But we don't have to live under his thumb any more."

Smith stayed silent for a long few minutes, reacting only to directions Trott gave him about which roads to take. His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel. "You keep saying 'we' a lot. After tonight... What happens to us?"

"We go home." Trott said firmly, gritting his teeth and not looking at his second skin and it's empty eyeholes. "In the morning, I'm going back to the ocean to find my old herd. There's nothing on land for me. I suggest you do something similar, go back to your river. The city is too dangerous for beings like us. So easily controlled."

"You're going back?" Smith blinked in surprise, glancing at Trott again. He supposed he had been stupid, in hindsight, to imagine they might spend their freedom together for longer than a night. Trott was the only friend he had in this city, the only friend he'd had for years, and the idea of saying goodbye to the smart, sharp-tongued doctor and his easy conversation and his determination was painful to say the least. He supposed he should have seen it coming. "I suppose your kind long for the ocean, don't they?"

"That's a load of shit for a start." Trott settled himself back with a squeak of leather. "Humans steal our skins and treat us like property, then have the audacity to make up tales about how stolen selkies long for the sea. Selkies long for freedom, without exception. Whether that's the freedom to swim and hunt or the freedom to protect and raise a family of their own choosing, they all do."

"And the sea is your freedom?" Smith asked, able to understand any fae that longed for freedom better than most. He didn't bring up the way Trott spoke about selkies as if they were other to him, as if he wasn't one of them, nor how he hadn't unfolded his skin or looked too long at the face it bore.

"Yes." Trott paused before answering, but he sounded disappointingly certain. "I've only ever found myself trapped on land. The sea has to bear more freedom for me."

"Land isn't just Kirin's court, though." Smith pointed out, checking his wing mirrors as the first drops of rain began to patter onto the windscreen of his car. "Land is so full of opportunity, there are humans and fae and all sorts of chances to be free in the way you choose. I don't think I can go back to where I came from, mate." Smith kept his eyes on the road, suddenly very aware of Trott watching him very closely. "If I don't use my freedom the way I want to, what's the point of it? Returning to the rivers, for me, would be just another form of imprisonment. Better to die where you have lived first." His voice was full of conviction, and Trott looked away after a moment with a sigh.

"You are stubborn, aren't you?" He chuckled- it started soft and light, but it didn't stop, and soon the selkie was laughing aloud with tears beading in his eyes, body shaking.

"What's funny?" Smith frowned, and Trott did his best to calm his laughter, wiping his eyes with the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Nothing's funny." Trott sniffed. "I just can't believe after all this time you're still so much... Like you." 

"Is that a compliment...?"

"It's relief." Trott reassured him, taking a shaky breath and blinking to refocus on the world as it rushed past the car windows. All is silent and still for a few moments. "I'll miss that."

\----

"Here." Smith looked around in confusion; Trott had directed him to pull into the driveway of a suburban property, in the sort of neighbourhood where the residents kept over zealous pedigree Labradors and put their lawn sprinklers on automated timers. The house was two storeys of homely red brick and yellow cement, with a garage door painted the same shade of light blue as the front door and window shutters. Everything about it, right down to the well-tended flower beds with garden tools left beside them out in the open, was from a happy homes catalogue, and naturally, Smith was suspicious. 

Nevertheless, he pulled up into the driveway, feeling an odd press and pop around them like poking your finger through plastic wrap until it breaks. Engine killed, he looked to Trott, who was taking a soft sigh of relief. "Did you feel that?"

"Yep." Trott nodded, unfolding his skin and opening the car door with nimble fingers, a little relieved to find no resistance as he climbed out. "Domestic protection field." He explained as Smith climbed out of his side, staring up at the house. "Maintained by hidden runes, very powerful, teleports anyone the owner doesn't want here away."

"That sounds like hearthmagic." Smith frowned; hearthmagic was an ancient and incredibly powerful strain of enchantments rumoured to have been given to humans by ancient creatures who found them favourable, in order to protect them from less kindly fae. Plenty of humans and humanoid creatures used hearthmagic without realising to protect their dwellings, but the kelpie couldn't smell any other human magic around.

"It is." Trott nodded, swinging his skin around to sit on his shoulders. It was a peculiar sight- Smith knew selkies could change between their forms in the blink of an eye, as easy as breathing, but seeing Trott in his skin didn't make him look any more comfortable. He just looked like a rather enchanting human in an odd, cumbersome cloak. It was probably the blank holes for the eyes, which stared right at Smith as he padded round his car to join Trott, or the jutting tusks that pointed skywards and looked entirely out of place on the shoulders of the homely doctor.

"How did you do hearthmagic?!" 

"I didn't. This house isn't mine." Trott explained, leading them to the door- Smith's steps faltered, and Trott reached for the knocker.

"Then who-?" His question was cut off by the sound of a commotion inside the idyllic house, muffled voices and the thumping of footsteps down a stairwell. Smith's very bones were on edge- the sheer tangible power of the field they had entered had him wary. Who would give sanctuary to two waterfae who had just betrayed one of the most powerful sidhe in the city? How did Trott know this wasn't a trap, how did they know their kindly shelterer wouldn't greet them with a knife through their own chest and Kirin grinning behind them? Trott seemed to know what he was doing, but as the locks on the front door began to click and rattle open, Smith remained poised on the balls of his feet, ready to make a run for it. 

The figure that answered the door was an unexpected sight- a tall, angular man, cutting an imposing figure with a neatly trimmed dark beard and sharp blue eyes, standing formally, almost to attention. What made him somewhat surprising was his Kiss The Cook apron, and his oven mitts, and the steaming tray of cookies he held- not to mention the blue fluffy slippers on his feet. Smith stared, racking his brain for where he knew this being from (though he looked human, he stank of powerful magic, the sort tuned into the turning of the Earth and the motions of the tides), but Trott, clearly relieved to see him, offered the man a smile.

"Good evening boys, come on in!" The man in the apron held the door open for them with a slippered foot, and Trott nudged Smith with his elbow to follow him into the warm hallway. The house smelled of fresh baked bread and was just messy enough to look lived in, a shoe rack in disarray beside the door and several battered umbrellas. Smith looked around in interest, poking at a model of a small metal pig that sat on the hall table- as he poked it, the pig snuffled and poked his finger right back, startling a laugh out of him.

"Smith." Trott hissed, and Smith looked up to see his selkie friend visibly tense, as if this baking guy was someone very important. He cleared his throat, looking between the owner of the house and the kelpie he had dragged into it.

"This is Smith, my good friend, a kelpie." Trott introduced, Smith frowning a little as he gave away so much. What was Trott's game? "And Smith, this is Xephos."

Smith's jaw dropped open.

"The Xephos?!" He stared at Trott, who nodded. "As in Xephos and Honeydew Xephos?" Another nod. "As in head of The Communion and Advisor to the Free Covens and Sidhe Council Founder Xephos?" Trott nodded a third time, and Smith stared. 

Everyone who was anyone had heard of Xephos, the most powerful of the celestial fae in the city. The Communion was far older than Kirin's court, a gathering of close friends who treated each other as equals, and tasked themselves with keeping peace and order in the city. Xephos was one of the few beings in this city Kirin was likely to fear, and in getting him to shelter them Trott had played a blinder. Kirin would never risk war in the city to invade Xephos' property in his hunt for them, and they would be as safe as they could be here until morning.

"That's me." The man in the apron gave a somewhat nervous laugh, and Smith couldn't help thinking to himself how peculiar it was to see the city's Hero in mom jeans and an awful jumper. "Listen, while you're in this house, help yourselves to food and blankets, and uh, give me or Honeydew a call if you need anything else. Trott, you've told Smith the rules, haven't you?"

"I'll reiterate." Trott covered smoothly. "We don't take liberties, this is for one night only, if anyone asks we were never here, and this doesn't signify an alliance." Trott rattled off. "If we cause any harm, we'll wish we were back at Kirin's." Trott looked to Xephos. "Is that everything?"

"That sounds about right, yeah." Xephos nodded, seeming pleased. "Uhm, take off your shoes, let's get you some dinner."

As they toed off their shoes and followed Xephos into the kitchen where a red-haired dwarf in pink fluffy slippers was waiting to welcome them too, Smith noticed the hero had yet to blink his cerulean lamplight eyes, and he couldn't help but worry what Trott had bargained away for this night of freedom.

\-----

The morning came too soon, in Smith's opinion. Awkwardly spooning his friend on a child sized bed in Xephos and Honeydew's son's old room was hardly the lap of luxury, but as he stirred with the dawning light, for the first time in a long while the kelpie felt as if he was in paradise. Keys on their comfortable old chain around his neck, Trott snoring softly in his arms (he had no idea the selkie was a sleep snuggler, but during the night he had found his friend increasingly pressing himself closer, until he was curled up with his face to his chest), a warm house with the freedom to do what he wanted- he lay in the dark staring at one of Lalna's many World's Most Famous Scientists posters and listening to Trott breathe and thought that comfort, company and freedom were the priorities of his new life, not necessarily in that order.

But there was something concerning him, too, and as they woke properly and dressed, he sat on the bed while Trott tried to fix his hair in an aeroplane shaped mirror on the wall, and asked it. 

"Trott, what do I owe you?"

The question didn't seem to faze the selkie, who continued fixing his hair.

"Trott," Smith asked again, a little firmer. "I know you must have bargained something important to get us this night, and I know you gave me back my keys and asked nothing in return. I must owe you something."

"Drive me to the beach this morning." Trott said quietly. Ever since he woke the selkie had moved and spoken with an air of finality, as if today was his last day breathing. "Safely. Make sure you deliver me safely to the beach, then your debt is repaid."

Smith thought of arguing- his freedom was worth far more than a car ride he would have given anyway- but he stopped himself, considering what a sacrifice letting a kelpie in your debt off lightly was for a selkie who essentially had nothing. Trott was the first friend he had had in a long while, and the feeling of being done well by was so unfamiliar he ever so briefly had to blink back tears as his stomach flipped. It was uncomfortable to realise this lack of familiarity with kindness and compassion wasn't entirely the fault just of his time at Kirin's court.

"Are you sure that's where you want to go?" Smith asked. He saw the muscles in Trott's jaw clench at his question. "The sea?"

"It's the only place I can go, sunshine." Trott said sadly, turning to draw his heavy skin off the bed and settle it around his shoulders. Smith blinked in surprise.

"...Sunshine...?" He said, a chuckle in his voice. Trott huffed.

"Yeah, sunshine. Is that a problem?"

"No." Smith laughed, standing and stretching with a happy sigh. Even though Trott was leaving, it was nice to be around him, the head Smith had on him in height terms oddly entertaining in the quiet of the morning. He felt the unfamiliar urge to reach out and ruffle Trott's neat hair, or gather him to his chest like he had during the night, or just to keep him close here where their old master couldn't hurt them. "Call me sunshine all you like, Troutimus."

"Troutimus?"

"Yep. That a problem?"

"No, aren't trout freshwater fish though?"

"I think you can get ocean kinds, right?"

"Well depends what you mean by "ocean kinds"- they all spawn in rivers, I think-"

They talked easily about nothing at all until Honeydew called them down for breakfast. 

\-------

The beach was a five minute drive out of town. A gaggle of holiday huts and souvenir stands sat dotted along the road above the beach, but there were few houses, due mostly to the fact that anyone who worked at the beach much preferred to live in the city. The unsheltered coast was home to strong winds and regular winter flooding, and in summer it was awash with holidaymakers struggling to keep gaudy umbrellas from tumbling away across the dim sand, but in the early April morning it was almost entirely deserted. Gulls bickered in gaggles, flapping and squawking on the sand and bobbing on the waves, and the sea lapped against the shore in a slow beat Trott could feel in his veins as they drew closer. 

The obnoxious roar of Smith's engines cut through the sounds of the sea and the gulls, and in the front seat of the car Trott found himself wishing he could have just five minutes longer as they pulled up beside the sand. Smith was oddly silent as he took his keys out of the ignition. Trott smoothed his restless fingers over the creases and scars in his old skin, which sat, artificial and folded, on his lap.

"Ready?" Smith asked, taking a deep breath as if it was him going into the ocean. There was nothing magical binding Trott to stay there if he entered wearing his skin, but they both knew this could easily be their last time meeting. Trott had nothing left on land but painful memories, and selkies once in the ocean were often hard to coax from it, and no matter how hard Smith tried, he couldn't think of one good reason for Trott to stay.

The selkie hesitated for a moment, as if hoping Smith was going to say something, but, when silence met him, he clambered out of the car, settling his skin around his shoulders. A cool spring breeze washed the shore, the scent of seasalt on its fingertips, and for a long moment he just stood and inhaled. 

He was resigned to what was about to happen, had convinced himself it was the only way forward, the only reasonable approach to keep them both safe. But actually leaving the air conditioning and muttering radio of Smith's car for a desolate beach and future unknown among the waves? That was something else altogether.

"Thank you." Trott said quietly, offering Smith a hand to shake. "You don't owe me anything more."

The kelpie stared unblinking for a second, before taking Trott's hand, surprising himself most of all when he found himself thinking this compounding of sorrow so soon after their triumphant escape was surely too much. He wasn't going back to his old home, miles away, there was nothing for him there, but the prospect of staying in the city alone just like before, hunting and fucking and eating his way around- it felt free but shallow, like he was back at square one. He wouldn't go back to Kirin willingly for all the late night back alley meatfucks in the world, but it would take work to build something new and worth having, and that work would be lonely without his amber-eyed selkie.

"You're sure about this?" Smith glanced to the churning waves, then the fae before him. In comparison to the vast and hungry sea, Trott seemed very small.

"No other choice." Trott sighed, letting Smith's cool hand slip from his fingers, unable to help but reflect that even though Smith could stick him to his skin like flypaper and devour him whole, he hadn't made one attempt to hurt him, and had helped him, even trusted him with his future. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed as he squared up to the beach and took a deep breath, knowing at least the memory of Smith's conduct would make for a comforting touchstone in the cold waves. "Be well, Smith."

"Fair weather to you." Smith nodded, and Trott glanced back at him in surprise. "What? I've eaten sailors."

"Don't you change." Trott chuckled, patting Smith's leather jacket at the elbow in a fleeting goodbye touch before he turned to make his way down the beach. 

The pale steps onto the sand were gritty, and the dry beach slid around his feet as they dug into it. Trott kept his eyes on the waves, savouring his last few steps on land. His skin was heavy, an awkward and unfamiliar weight around his shoulders, and as he drew it around him its scent and texture against his human skin made him shudder. It stank of thick seasalt, and he could feel it reacting to his proximity to the sea like a kite to the wind, swelling with an excitement he himself didn't feel. He knew once he wore it properly the sea could take him, he could wade out and dive under and be safe in its silence and darkness, he might even be able to forget his time here. Some selkies told stories of sea blindness, old salts who spent too long in the water and its magic wore away their memories of anywhere else- if he spent long enough in the waves, he knew he too would cease to care for his old days on land; Kirin and the court, the fisherman who had first taken his skin a decade ago, every piece of suffering and pain he had been forced through here. Smith.

He walked down to the edge of the tide like a man to the gallows, the rushing saltwater pulling away from his toes in a way he almost sympathised with. He was meant to be here, every story and old rule said it. The sea was freedom, the only freedom that could keep him safe.

He glanced backwards, ankle deep in the saltwater, to see Smith. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed and a lit cigarette held limply between his fingers, watching. Trott felt oddly self-conscious at what he was sure Smith was about to see- Smith who thought of him as a friend, who had trusted him with his keys and his debt, who had been willing to bank everything on him. Nobody had ever trusted him like Smith, and it was possible nobody ever would again. Smith and his stubborn ideas about what they should do- his words from the previous night had been churning ceaselessly in Trott's mind. Better to die where you have lived first. Returning would just be another form of imprisonment.

The cold water rushed over his shins and he stared out over the sea, walrus skin flapping loosely in the spray and the wind. It looked like the world ended at the horizon, the old familiar sight of the sea being everything in front of him, until it dropped off the edge of the world. The sea's call turned his gut, and it took him a long moment to realise it wasn't the bumpy readjustment to being close to the ocean again that was making him uneasy. It was the prospect of returning to the ocean at all.

It was possible the cold salt water was all he had left to live for. To spend the rest of his years drifting in an empty ocean (there was no chance his old herd would have him back), what kind of freedom was that? If running into the sea was what they had fought for, almost died for, why had he not twisted out of Kirin's hold weeks ago and plummeted into the ocean, never to emerge again? Was this any more than what Smith said, just another form of imprisonment?

Trott swallowed dryly, acutely conscious of his tiny position in the infinite sea as the water rocked against his knees. 

"Do you even want me back?" He asked quietly, hating how childish his voice sounded as the wind took it far out to sea. 

Nothing came as reply- no heads breaking the waves far out to sea to welcome him home, no swell of comfort at finally being somewhere he ought to call home, no pull against his legs to remind him he shouldn't walk ten years on them without his tail. No promise of vengeance for the wrongs done to him, no roar of high waves or scream of storm winds as the sea swore revenge on the fae lord who dared wrong her son. 

He waited, and there was nothing. As there had always been.

He turned his back on the ocean, teeth gritted. The waves pushed his calves as he waded out of the water, ignoring the way the damp sand clung to his shoes and clambering stubbornly up the beach. Smith straightened up against the car on the road as he spotted Trott walking towards him, passing his thumb over his damp cheeks before the selkie got too close.

"Forget something?" Smith asked, tilting his head curiously as Trott climbed the steps back up to his car, taking in the way the selkie looked as determined as he had been when they first decided they were making it out of Kirin's court, alive or dead. Trott reached his side and looked up at him.

"Come with me."

"You know I can't come into the ocean, Trott, you-"

"No, not like that." Trott interrupted with a frown. "Into the city. You and I. You're right. Just going back to the old place- that's as bad as letting him toss us back in." 

As he spoke, he saw Smith's face breaking into a wider and wider grin. "Fuck that. We didn't escape that place to go running home. We'll start again. Found something of our own. Hit him where it hurts. Live in his city, right under his nose, get him back for what he took from us because he has to see us every day, living our lives, free and happy and stronger by the hour."

"Won't he kill us? He'll probably kill us, right...?" Smith asked, and Trott waved his hands dismissively.

"Listen. We are the first beings ever to escape Kirin's court, do you want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because we're not."

"What?"

"Probably not, at least. We never hear about fae escaping courts because that's a sign of weakness- in his mind, we stole two of his most valuable assets from right under his nose! Whether or not we’re the first ones to do it, we’re an open wound for him."

"And he wants to kill us, yeah, I’m following..."

"But he can't tell anyone we're gone! Because someone else hears that- let's say the Well Witch, or the Communion, or any contender for Kirin’s crown ten cities around- Kirin lets slip that we escaped and there's anarchy. He’s losing his grip. The other lords come for his head. His court works on the lie that it's too big to fail, too overwhelming, but if it sprung a leak-"

"He can't send anyone from his court after us because then they'd know there's an escape!"

"Right! He might send some after us, but they'll be small fry, nobody he couldn't stand to lose. Nobody we couldn’t fight or fuck or kill." Trott's eyes are wild and his fingers are curling tightly on Smith's sleeves. 

"We have a window here. Maybe a week, maybe two. I pick up a few things here, things to trade, we both have magic we can sell. We spend those weeks wisely and get ourselves set up with enchantments, protections, ways to hide ourselves. We hide out, go trading, work our way up in the city. There must be others around outside Kirin's circuit, he's not all powerful yet. You and I both know he’s overworked keeping what he has going. We move in the circles he can't with his respectability, we stay underground, we raid poaching dens, we trade wherever there's profit and make deals and work our way up and then we fuck him over, just like he fucked us over."

Smith stared, watching the fire in Trott's usually blank eyes, trying to find a reason to say no. There were a thousand ways for this to go wrong, he knew it, but there was also the very real possibility this could go right, they could work their ways up, burrow deep into the trunk of the city and chew at Kirin from where it hurt. Going back wasn't the freedom either of them wanted, and it beat barhopping until the panic of their escape died down and Kirin sent some of his minions to dispose of them quietly- or worse, drag them back.  
And he had never seen Trott look so alive.

"You've gone fucking crazy, mate. I like it."

"So. You're in? It'll be hard going."

"When have I not gone along with one of your plans? Of course I'm in, mate." Smith grinned, and Trott matched his smile. "Let's make him regret the day he saw us."

"And if we die, we die free."

"Only way to go, mate."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! This fic and more also available on my tumblr: http://www.brownpapermoon.tumblr.com/ . Thanks to the ever-lovely Flossing for numerous late-night sobfests about how this would have gone down, if you'd like to read a fic in a similar vein, go and check out his account! Comments and crit always appreciated.


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